


outside looking in

by cosmicfuss



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Starscourge, Fluff, I'm just really soft for these two okay, M/M, No Dialogue, canonverse, it's really only rated T for language but barely, no beta we die like men, outsider pov, technically ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicfuss/pseuds/cosmicfuss
Summary: The prince and his shield, their relationship as seen by friends, by family.





	outside looking in

Iris was five when she met Prince Noctis, seven when she had her suspicions, nine when there was no room left for doubt.

The prince was her ideal.

She was fifteen when she realized that perhaps adoring the prince was just a family trait.

Lost in the woods, the soft mews of the cat she'd followed from the castle somewhere in the background of this- in her _most humble_ opinion- romantic scene, Iris stood face-to-face with the prince.

 _I come out here a lot too, let's keep the exit our little secret okay?_  he had said.

 _Okay!_  she grinned readily, her young heart swooning over a literal prince charming.

She didn't know much about romance, everything she did she'd learned from the covers of Gladdy's novels about demons and cowboys and maidens and love. And from one of her schoolmates who gossiped about the boy she'd held hands with or the girl who had shared her snacks during lunch.

She couldn't wait to tell her friends that  _the Prince Noctis_  had held  _her_  hand, had rescued her from the woods.

(She didn't mention it, because that meant admitting that she had stood there and let the prince take the blame for her own mistakes, something she only told Gladdy in tears later that night. That had been the beginning, unbeknownst to her until over a decade down the line.

Five year old Iris couldn't even  _begin_  to appreciate the story-tale ending she'd set up with her little tryst following a cat.)

It took two years and a plethora of effort on her part, but eventually she did befriend twelve year old Prince Noctis.

She kept her girlhood crush at bay, journaling events and 'dates' he took her on- usually walks through the gardens, often with a cane that somehow made her feelings stronger for him, heart aching.

Iris thought the prince was pretty and smart and kind, because he always smiled at her and listened when she spoke of her day and told funny jokes and accepted the stickers she gave him, some even finding home on his cane

(Iris had insisted on it, actually.  _It'll make it pretty, that way you like using it more! Who doesn't like things they decorate,_  had been her logic. He'd smiled and let her put holographic stars and suns and horses all over it.)

To a seven year old, this was the epitome of perfect-husband material.

To an eight year old mind, the thought of being exactly eighteen and having a twenty-three year old Noctis storm the Amicitia home to ask for her hand was written out in extreme detail in her journal, various versions including weather and background music but all ending with  _I do_.

She was sad that he no longer brought her lovingly-decorated cane with him wherever he went, but it made her happy to see him able to run and jump again, to smile wide, unabashed.

It may have taken Iris years to admit but eventually she did concede that, yes, Noctis- no longer _Prince Noctis_ , now just dear friend Noctis- would likely always be part of her life and she'd always treasure his place in it, but, no, that place would not be as  _'Noctis Lucis Caelum Amicitia, husband of Iris Amicitia.'_

That lesson came hard and quick one day, spotting prince and shield together at the Citadel.

Gladio was in his uniform, spic and span as ever, and Noctis in his elegant palace garb. He was holding paperwork, probably from Ignis on a week's worth of missed meetings, face pale.

Iris ducked behind one of the many large, ornate structures that lived in Citadel halls, this one carved of stone and shaped as the Archean, to peek at them- she was meant to be studying and knew Gladio knew it too but she was  _bored_.

Gladio was speaking to Noctis, hushed and tone shockingly gentle compared to what Iris was used to. She watched as he took the heavy stack from the prince, balanced it all in one hand, the other resting on Noctis' lower back. His head dipped down, chin resting atop the prince's head like a crown, murmuring words Iris couldn't hear.

They walked down the hall, her hidden form unnoticed.

 

Prompto, upon meeting the famous prince, didn't know much about him.

He rarely spoke to anyone- Prompto knew when he did because the rumor mill didn't wind down about it for  _weeks_ \- and didn't smile much, even on public broadcasts. There was an air about him that Prompto assumed all royalty retained, a warning of  _Don't come near me, I'll have you thrown into the palace dungeons and erase your records so no one knows you ever went missing_.

Maybe that last bit was just in Prompto's head.

When the prince came back to school for the second time, Prompto was determined to get to know him.

It wasn't the wealth or status or notoriety of being  _'Prince Noctis' only friend'_  that cemented the idea, no. It was the sullen look in his eyes, the loneliness that Prompto could spot a mile away because it was identical to his own.

Slimmer now so many years later and having built a name for himself as  _self-assured, funny-man Prompto_  he went in for the kill.

He introduced himself to the prince on their first day of high school, grinning wide.

Noctis' lips quirked up, just a tad, and shook his hand.

(Prompto would relive that moment for  _days_ , even as he sat next to Noctis at lunch and caught up with him before classes started, even as they played King's Knight together and Prompto wondered if it was treason that he was winning.)

After school, each day without fail for the past year they'd been in high school, a sleek black car would pull up and a brunet would stand there, waiting. Noctis would go up to the car, sometimes chatting as he sat in the opened door, and Prompto would wave him off as he started the trek home.

Their sophomore year, same black car. Prompto eyed the beefcake of a man that leaned against it instead, about to ask who it was but Noctis was already picking up speed. He turned around, a giddy grin on his face as he waved and shouted goodbye to Prompto.

Prompto could only wave, watched transfixed as the man ruffled the prince's hair, eliciting peels of laughter that Prompto only earned when they were alone together and playing video games, joking around.

Prompto wondered who it was, how he was able to put the moody teen at ease by simply  _existing_.

He tried harder, from that day on. He wanted Noctis to trust him, to be at ease with him, to laugh and joke without a second thought. He wanted Noctis to value their friendship as much as Prompto did.

Jovial as he was during the day, sometimes when Noctis invited him over to his apartment to play games Prompto let himself slip. He figured that maybe vulnerability would show Noctis just  _how much_  he trusted him, valued him as  _Noctis_  and not  _Prince Noctis_. Also, it just felt really,  _really_ nice to have that sincerity matched, to feel comfort where he normally went home to a cold and empty apartment.

Noctis had held him as he'd started to tear up, words that he hadn't allowed to form before finally leaving his tongue.

Prompto didn't have a family, but Insomnia took good care of its orphans. Prompto didn't have much fat now, but he had pink and silver marks on his hips and thighs that showed just how much he'd lost between elementary and high school. Prompto didn't have many friends, but he had  _Noctis_.

Perhaps for the first time or perhaps just  _accepting_  for the first time that Prompto wasn't going anywhere, Noctis opened up too.

Noctis didn't often see his father, their once-a-week meals often silent but Noctis appreciated getting to see his  _face_  nonetheless. Noctis didn't often make public appearances, hands shaky and afraid his wavering voice would be headlines for weeks. Noctis didn't have many friends but he had Iris and Ignis and Prompto and- he'd stuttered then-  _Gladio_.

 _Ah_ , Prompto realized,  _the beefcake_.

Prompto doesn't often hate the way his body looks, not anymore. He's worked hard to get where he is, he's proud. But then he sees those roiling muscles, rippling under taut skin, and a second later he'd be struck to the core in awe at the devotion in honey brown eyes.

He trains harder, his exercises designed for muscle mass and stamina now instead of fat loss.

Prompto gets a sudden urge to add another set of reps to his regimen whenever he sees Gladio, to push himself a little more. He wonders if he could ever devote his entire life to someone the way the shield did- almost immediately he would think,  _yes_.

The crownsguard sent a representative to recruit at the end of their senior year, and Prompto  _knew_.

He'd been in the photography club since their first year, had submitted pictures to smaller magazines, had won a couple awards. He loved it, the feeling of aligning the shot still made him as giddy as it had the very first time.

It was his life, an important part of it anyway.

One day, Noctis tells him that if he hadn't been born the prince he'd have liked to be a fisherman. Maybe move down to the Quay, open up a little seafood restaurant with Ignis- because _if Noctis wasn't prince then Igs wasn't his adviser,_  he'd said.

Prompto had grinned wide, elbowed Noctis in the side and suggested that Gladio would be a fish, reeled in by Noctis.

He'd never seen the prince flush before, but there were first things for everything.

Prompto offered to take pictures at their man-fish wedding, declaring that in this made-up universe he'd be a professional photographer.

 _What's stopping you_ , Noctis had asked and Prompto had smiled gently then.

 _I'm gonna join the crownsguard in this one, gotta protect the royal pain_.

 

Ignis was introduced to the crown prince at age three, the boy himself one.

He'd taken one look at the boy and, as a mother chocobo who'd lost her chick, accepted the child as his own. Not consciously, of course, being three he'd looked at him and thought  _I'm going to devote the rest of my life to a baby who can't even sit up itself?_

He started preparing since that day to take care of the prince, his studies highly specialized from the day he could read and write.

It was basic things, first, of course. Lucian history, English, Old Lucian, the geography of Eos.

As a teenager, he'd likely studied enough to have completed at least a couple different doctorates. If he weren't so tied up with training to perfection, he could write dissertations on any basic subject, even on things like the human psyche and cooking and educating troubled youths.

A twelve year old Noctis certainly counted as a troubled youth.

Ignis knew how to handle him, better than Noctis' various nannies and caretakers- and though no one  _dared_  think it, much less  _say it_ , perhaps even the king himself.

(Ignis dared think it, occasionally and in the privacy of his own quarters. King Regis treated Noctis coolly, didn't give any positive affirmation that Noctis so clearly  _craved_  from the man. Ignis did his best, made sweet treats he knew Noctis loved, obliged him when he wanted to play-  _and beat Ignis at_ \- video games.

Ignis was no father, of course, and he would never speak on these thoughts. He couldn't help having them, remembering the boy's downtrodden face at King Regis'  _you must be prepared, you must try harder, Noctis_.)

At twelve, all Noctis wanted to do was eat sweets and play with Iris in the gardens and be a  _child_.

Unfortunately, this was seldom allowed for a crown prince.

Ignis got him to study with bribery and promises of play later. Not that there was much for him to do anymore, not when he was often confined and stationary. He couldn't imagine what that must be like, but he could try- Ignis would  _always_  try, for Noctis.

He was only allowed up and about the palace a few hours a day, many of them spent with Iris when she showed up- she often did, and Ignis could tell the young girl held a fondness for the prince that the boy himself didn't realize.

They would sit on the swing in the garden and weave flower crowns that often fell apart- no one ever scolded them for picking flowers, the servants all knew what a rarity was that the young prince smile and laugh as he did with her.

Iris would recount stories and decorate his cane- Ignis had been startled when he'd seen it for the first time, knowing firsthand how much Noctis  _loathed_  the wooden tool.

Ignis allowed them this time, and Noctis would return from the gardens feeling rejuvenated and would actually listen to Ignis as he tutored him. It was the lightest he ever saw the boy, really. He wished he knew what Iris' trick to it was.

The following year, Noctis was off his cane and back to his training with his shield, and likewise Ignis began learning from the crownsguard.

Noctis was often sore and tired, but Ignis was back to his old tricks of sweets and affirmation and Noctis often agreed to work with little complaint. Out of the blue, Noctis one day told him that he enjoyed spending time with Ignis.

Ignis smiled, warmed to his bones, and told Noctis that he enjoyed their time together as well.

He could only hope that his tone transferred the swell of feeling over, for once cursing how rarely emotive he was- not that Noctis was much different, honestly, about as expressive as a fish in front of most people.

Years later, Noctis at the bright age of seventeen, Ignis wondered how it was possible for the prince to have come so far.

Hardly a day went by that Noctis didn't flash a smile of some sort- albeit many of them were sarcastic twists of the lips or paired with a roll of eyes, but it was certainly more than he'd ever offered in boyhood.

He was still sullen and withdrawn in the presence of most others, always a reminder to Ignis that even moody sarcasm was proof that the boy trusted him, considered him to be someone close to the heart- it didn't curb the frustration, but extended his patience just a smidgen.

Ignis noted, of course, that days where Noctis got to train were among the days he was able to focus best, able to smile easier.

Ignis understood to a degree, he knew the basic physical chemistry and response to extreme workouts, had been living it firsthand since age fifteen when he'd begun his own training with the crownsguard, officially a member since eighteen. So of course Ignis understood.

He didn't, however, grasp why it was that some days after training the prince would come back moody and sullen as if he'd just attended extra studies courses. He'd complain about the glaive those days for hours, mostly Nyx's harsh regimen or Crowe's harsh everything.

To better understand his prince- it was his duty to know Noctis wholly, to be able to reach conclusions on his thoughts before the boy did himself to best aid him- Ignis decided to sit in on some of the sparring sessions.

He knew Noctis was used to gawking so Ignis hadn't even needed to come up with any sort of excuse. He stood off to the side- often with Iris, who grinned wide and ribbed him with pointy elbows- and simply watched.

Nothing was too far from what the typical training looked like, though Nyx and Crowe did appear to occasionally push him a little too far- in Ignis' own opinion, of course, considering he knew of the pink, raised flesh that crossed Noctis' back from his left shoulder to right hip that few were privy to.

Ignis couldn't see anything to be that worked up over, really.

It was when he saw the prince's training with Gladio that he understood.

Ignis was his adviser and friend, it was his job to fully understand his charge so that he could best perform his duties. He could see every thought Noctis had, knew exactly what he wanted for dinner each night, sensed the tides and pulls of his moods as a coeurl sensed prey ten kilometers away.

He watched them, a little perplexed with Iris' snickers meeting his ears vaguely.

Noctis, on his feet and lighter than the session with the glaive members and grinning wide with mirth. Noctis, warping faster and hitting harder and cheeks flushed with adrenaline. Noctis, parrying and dodging and slamming his full weight behind every hit.

Gladio, laughing and blocking and eyes never leaving Noctis. Gladio, normally so poised and vicious in his attacks returning friendly banter and jokes with his charge. Gladio, twisting and pinning a smaller body and cheeks tinted behind tanned skin.

 _Ah,_  Ignis had said at last.

 _Just getting clued in?_  Iris had laughed, punching his arm lightly- as light as was expected from an Amicitia in any case.

 _Perhaps knowing everything about one's charge was a bit much,_ he thought _. Best to let things be_ , Ignis settled on, already mentally cataloging ingredients for the prince's favorite sweets for the night.

 

As a father, it was his duty to honor his children, see to it that they grew into every ounce of potential they had.

As the king's shield, it was his duty to devote every bone in his body to his liege, see to it that harm never met him.

As both, it was a teetering game of balance and often empty seats at Iris' school recitals and Gladiolus' mastery tests with the glaive.

(Of course, those seats were often filled in some way; Noctis and Gladio and Ignis cheering for Iris embarrassingly loud from the crowd. Noctis and Ignis and eventually Prompto hooting both when Gladio struck down opponents and louder when he got a nasty hit and fell on his ass.

Still, though, it was the principal of the thing, Clarus understood, remembered his own upbringing.)

Clarus would always be first to admit that he wasn't the most present father in his children's lives. He'd often see the crown prince more than his own blood due to shadowing Regis, and it was only once Gladiolus stepped further into his duties as shield did he see his own son's face on a truly daily basis.

As such, it was obvious even to him that there was a disconnect between his children and himself.

He'd instilled in Gladiolus since birth that his duty to his future king would always come above all else. Above family, above love, above blood, above  _himself_. His charge, his reason to be. That was the priority, always.

 _You have nothing without your king, for what good is a shield without a liege to protect? This is what it looks like to have failed,_  Clarus remembered saying the words clearly, he and his son standing beside the bed of a comatose child.

Gladiolus had devoted himself to training from that point forward, and Clarus felt nothing but pride at seeing his son take seriously his responsibilities.

When the prince awoke, near paralyzed from waist down, he was taken to Tenebrae for healing. Clarus watched over the king, assured him that his son would return with capable legs.

Gladiolus learned another lesson from his father, then.

_It is not just his body you must protect, remember this well Gladiolus. There is more to shield than a sword or arrow, grief can take one quicker than poison._

Gladiolus had nodded and returned to training, meditation. Clarus hoped he truly understood, to his core.

Clarus did, he felt the urge, the  _need_  to help his king every night when the man woke at night with screams and went to sleep sometimes too weary to even pull the covers over himself. Clarus felt immeasurable pain at seeing his existence waste away, fed to the crystal and doomed to protect the Wall of Lucis with his every breath.

Clarus hoped that Gladiolus never had to witness this.

(He knew he would, most likely. It was the curse of the Lucis king to give his life for his people, to waste away rapidly until there was nothing left but the will to see another day and breathe another breath.

The curse of the shield to watch on, helpless.)

When the young prince did return with nothing but a limp and temporary cane, Clarus had allowed Regis to grip his shoulders at night and tremble in relief.  _My son, my son is going to walk. He's going to walk, Clarus_ , he'd said through tears and sucked, gasping breaths.

Clarus never saw so up-close what Gladiolus' reaction had been, though many, many years later he did wonder about it.

Clarus wondered about much regarding his son.

When had he mastered every weapon in the Citadel's arsenal? At what point had he truly accepted his role as shield with every fiber of his being? What had caused that thin, white line on his lower thigh? Had Gladiolus ever forgiven him, for never giving him a childhood? For pushing him to rationalize and behave like an adult at only age thirteen?

Clarus wondered about much regarding his son, though one question stuck out in his mind, replaying endlessly since the moment it had come to its fruition.

_How in the names of the Six did I ever manage to miss this?_

He looked out of his den's window, his prince and shield sitting in the little garden that Jared still tended to- it had been his wife's, fierce though she had been she'd had a love for nature that rivaled the love of the most pious man for the astrals.

They sat on the wooden swinging bench that Iris insisted they continually fix rather than replace-  _It was Mom's I don't wanna get rid of it, please!_ \- and rocked gently, a blanket draped over the prince's shoulders.

The prince sat with his feet poking out of it, resting over Gladiolus' lap, the man's hands rubbing into the soles. He couldn't hear what they were talking about but it was obvious that they were laughing, a smile on Gladiolus' face- Clarus couldn't even  _remember_  the last time he'd seen it, astrals, much less the ever-sullen prince's.

The prince tilted forward, chin resting on Gladiolus' shoulder, eyes alight with a life that had never existed there. Clarus couldn't see the boy with the limp, the teen who only opened his mouth to release harsh quips and bites of sarcasm.

He didn't see a king, either, but he saw something regal sitting there.

He saw something in Gladiolus' eyes, something blazing and burning its way to the core of the man's being. It was fierce and it was infallible and it was infinite, growing larger as his gaze traveled over the lift of the prince's lips and lightness of his shoulders.

 

As a king, there was an ever-expanding amount of knowledge that he had to know about his kingdom.

As a man, there were really only so many hours in a day.

As a father, there was a vast gap and bridging it was becoming steadily harder, day by day.

With Noctis being twenty now, Regis allowed him as much freedom as a prince could be allowed. They still maintained their weekly dinners together, and Regis tried to speak to him as much as he could between and after meetings, occasionally cajoled Clarus into overseeing their sons' training sessions.

Their relationship was better now, far better than it had ever been, admittedly.

Regis watched over Noctis as closely as he dared, the line between them becoming thinner gradually. He toed a little too close to Noctis' personal life sometimes, likely an odd thought for most fathers, but when you were king, well.

On one occasion Regis had overhead servants gossip- not an uncommon occurrence in the Citadel, unfortunately- about Noctis' training sessions with his shield and had grown curious. Over their weekly dinner, Regis had asked  _So, son, is there anyone in particular that's caught the eye lately? You haven't seemingly branched out, since your disengagement with Lunafreya_.

Noctis had burned red, choked on his meal and called for a servant to refill his glass of water. He'd snapped something along the lines of  _Why, so you can announce it to the whole of Lucis?_  and promptly shoveled another bite into his mouth.

Regis hadn't responded, chastised.

His son had a quick tongue, he knew, and often sharper than the crownsguard's blades. He also knew that that greatly stemmed from his own failings towards his son.

For all the lifetime of tutors and studies and politics and leading had given him, the ability to properly communicate with his own son was a lesson that had never stuck, it seemed.

But still, Regis woke every day and  _tried_  and prayed for strength from the Six to see him through to another dusk. He pushed tired bones and let Clarus rub the soreness from his muscles in the privacy of his personal study and he sat down and dined with his son and  _tried_.

Noctis was trying too, he could tell.

For all the lifetime of tutors and studies and gaming and running had given him, the ability to properly communicate his own emotions was a lesson not yet imparted unto him, Regis knew.

He may not be able to talk to his son but he could see in the young man's shoulders and hands and eyes that even though he wanted to run, half of that was to run towards his father. He could see it in the way that Noctis' hands sometimes lingered on his arms when he helped him stand-  _I wish these arms had held me, steadied me, comforted me_ , he didn't say.

He could see it in the way Noctis was almost never the one to stand first during their weekly dinners-  _I don't want to say goodnight, I want to stay, I want you to stay,_  he didn't say.

He could see it in the way Noctis would sweat and push himself during the sparring sessions with his shield that Regis would oversee with Clarus-  _Please, gods please be proud of me,_  he  _absolutely_  didn't say.

And, once, he could see it in the fear Noctis held himself with, lips swollen and shirt disheveled and eyes wide-  _Dad, shi- um, fuck okay, sorry, this isn't what- well it_ is _but please,_  he'd stammered, launching himself a foot away from Gladiolus.

 _Please just make sure you're responsible, son, my job as king is assure your life is as yours to live as possible_ , Regis had forced his voice to be calm and collected, which he very much was  _not_  but he had to be. For Noctis, and for Clarus, who stood a few steps behind him with a rigid spine.

 _Thanks, dad,_  Noctis smiled, shaky and relieved and breaking a little.

 

 

_(Noctis Lucis Caelum-Amicitia, husband to Gladiolus Amicitia.)_

_(There were pictures of their wedding, though both of the grooms were very much human.)_

_(The two were more alive and at ease than they'd ever been, more comfortable in each others pockets than their own.)_

_(There was no ounce less of devotion in amber eyes, no less protection and determination, there was so much there that he couldn't even tell how love managed to fit in.)_

_(As long as they were happy, the sun would rise.)_

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for a while and finally just sat down and wrote it so !!! that happened !! it's largely unedited so if there's any mistakes feel free to let me know :-)


End file.
